


chef's special

by irritable



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/F, Set in canon, not what you think its about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 09:12:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8280544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irritable/pseuds/irritable
Summary: The first time it happened, it was a drunken mistake.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i apologize if theyre ooc bc ive only just started s2 and forgot most of s1 anyway have fun kiddos

**one.**

The first time it happened, it was a drunken mistake.

And by drunken, she meant Linda was really drunk. She was just really, _really_ hungry.

“Whip it,” she commanded.

Maze smirked. “Kinky.”

Linda rolled her eyes. “Well, if you’re not going to do it, I’ll do it.”

“Ooh, what’s our safe word?”

“Give it to me,” said Linda, taking an uneven step forward, almost stumbling right into Maze, forcing her back against the counter. “I thought you were _hungry_.”

Maze narrowed her eyes. She was. “Fine.”

Linda smiled, satisfied, taking the whisk. “So,” she started, “do you want chocolate or vanilla icing?”

Scoffing, Maze stepped aside, giving Linda access to the bowl. “Do I look like I’m interested in anything remotely vanilla?”

“No, I suppose not.” Linda wedged the whisk into the mixture, wrapping an arm around the bowl and beginning to drag it through the mix. “The… The chocolate icing is in the… There.”

She nodded to the fridge behind Maze. Maze dutifully slid the container over.

Maze leaned back, quirking an eyebrow, and watched Linda’s pathetic attempts to move the whisk through the stiff mixture. Not noticing, Linda continued to hum a tune that sounded vaguely like the theme song of _Leave it to Lesley_ – she used the word ‘vaguely’ because it also could have just been drunk-person babble – and prod at the mix, absentmindedly.

After five minutes, Maze, thoroughly amused, decided to put her out of her misery. Also, she was still really damn hungry. She straightened and pried the bowl and whisk away from Linda, who whimpered and huffed.

With another roll of her eyes, Maze took a shot glass and filled it with the closest drink, which happened to be the last of their tequila. Linda took it, happily knocking it back with a laugh.

“You know,” Linda started, conversationally, leaning over her counter with a lazy grin. “You make for good company.”

Maze made quick work of the batter and set it aside, picking up the box with the instructions and scanning it. “We were supposed to preheat the oven.”

“Oh!” Linda spun around, twice, actually, and squatted in front of the oven, turning until the knob pointed to 350°F. “The oil spray is by the napkins.”

Maze nodded, spraying it over the pan Linda had dumped unceremoniously on the island a half hour ago and rubbing it over the sides with a napkin. “Now what?”

“Put it in!”

Resisting blurting out an innuendo that was low even for her, she did so.

Linda gasped. “You forgot oven mitts.”

“I don’t need oven mitts.”

“But what if you were burned.”

“I’m not.”

“But–”

Maze sighed, sharply, cutting Linda off. “Here.” She opened Linda’s fridge and pulled out the closest juice carton. “Drink the orange juice.”

Linda complied, overfilling her shot glass while she was at it, but still, she drank it. Maze almost laughed at how positively stupid she looked.

And, oh shit, Maze glanced back down at the box. “Did you set the timer?”

“Um,” Linda said. “No.”

“Half an hour, Linda,” Maze said. Linda twisted the other knob accordingly. “Now what?”

Linda shrugged, taking another shot of orange juice. “I think you should try and distance yourself with – from Lucifer and his problems.”

 _Wow_. Maze snorted, looking away and gritting her teeth. It seemed Linda was therapist through-and-through. “I’m not just going to sit back and allow that bitch to ruin everything.”

She was silent for a moment. “Are you jealous?”

Linda was a therapist, but she wasn’t a good one when she was drunk and Maze really couldn’t be bothered to deal with it. “I’m going to go watch something. Keep sipping at the orange juice.”

The midnight news was uneventful, but enough for her to pass the time fairly quickly. The timer went off in the middle of a story about some cat stuck in a tree.

Her shoulders slumped. She sighed, got to her feet, and strode into the kitchen, catching Linda slotting the orange juice back into her fridge.

Linda shuffled over to the oven, pulling the hatch down and – “ _Hey_.”

She turned.

“Use the oven mitts.” Maze tossed the mitts to her, feeling a strange warmth spread through her chest as Linda carefully wiggled her hands into them, clapping her hands together twice once they were on.

As Linda dealt with the oven, Maze pulled all the cabinets open in search of the plates, placing one on by the stove and helping Linda dump the pan onto the stove.

They stood shoulder-to-shoulder and stared at it. At each other. Then, back at the cake. And this time, when Linda glanced back over to her, she cracked a smile. She picked the pan up and turned it over, so the cake flopped onto the plate.

It looked sad, to be honest.

Disastrously undercooked. One side was sagging down onto the plate, while the others had uneven edges, bumps dotted sporadically across the surface. Maze took the icing and slathered it over the cake. There. Out of sight, out of mind.

She leaned an elbow against the counter and dropped her head to one side, staring over at Linda. “Knife?”

Wordlessly, Linda handed one over and discarded two clean plates next to the cake while she was at it.

Maze cut a generous square out, sliding it onto a plate: “ _Mine_.” And dumped a similar piece onto the other one: “Yours.”

“Thank you,” Linda said, taking the plate and a fork, putting some distance between them, and making her way to her living room.

Jabbing the knife into the cake, she picked the cake and her plate up, following Linda. She left the cake on the coffee table and joined her on the couch.

With the news playing as background noise, they dug in, Linda scooping cake into her mouth and Maze picking the cake up with her knife.

“Maze?”

“Hm,” she grunted.

“This,” Linda started, pausing to nibble off a piece of cake on her fork. “This is the worst cake I’ve ever made.”

Maze nodded. “The worst.” She took another bite.

“Mhmm.” Linda poked her fork in her slice. “We should do this again.”

“We’ll see.”

 

 

**two.**

The second time she baked, as it turned out, still involved a drunken Linda.

It had only been a week since the last time they’d tried to make that cake.

(Which they threw out the next morning right after Linda groaned something about alcohol and never drinking it again. Ha, right, dream on. She was friends with an _ex-bartender_.)

They’d just come back from a bar – _not_ Lux, so Maze was just about ready to slaughter the entire human race and watch some mindless TV. She hated unfamiliar bars. More accurately, she hated human douchebags with no sense of personal space, _especially_ when it came to Linda. Only she was allowed to mess with Linda.

 “Where’s your boxset of _Leave it to Lindsey_?”

Linda yawned, blinking. “I… don’t know.”

Maze narrowed her eyes. “Well, log in to your Netflix.”

“I don’t have Netflix.” Linda shrugged.

“Okay, well, I don’t know Trixie’s password, since Decker changed it, so you’re going to have to know where your boxset is.”

“Sorry,” said Linda. She didn’t sound sorry. Maze growled, sitting up. “I _might_ remember where it is if we could, maybe, bake again.”

Eyes flashing dangerously, Maze glared daggers at Linda. “You’re _blackmailing_ me into baking with you.”

“You think I’ve got another box of cake mix?” Linda frowned, biting her lip.

Right. Maze snorted, getting to her feet, and almost smirked in approval. “Fine. Where’s the boxset?”

Linda smiled, wryly, drunkenly; hazy eyes and face-splitting grin. “Cake first.”

Maze lips twitched. Much more familiar with the kitchen, Maze quickly pulled out the necessary equipment as Linda dumped an armful of boxes onto the island.

She strut over, resting a chin in her palm as Linda sorted out through the boxes, mumbling to herself.

“Aha!” Linda grinned, handing off the box over to Maze, who sliced it open with a knife, dumping the powder into a bowl.

Curious, Linda peered at the knife Maze carelessly tossed aside.

Maze turned, raising an eyebrow. “Oven, Hannibal Lector. 350°F.”

“Aye aye, cap’n,” Linda said, giving a floppy-armed salute.

Maze wrinkled her nose. “Shut up.”

Linda promptly began humming the theme of _Leave it to Lindsey_ , though she seemed to forget what came next, because after a while, she lapsed into silence.

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head, and got on with it. She was always a fast learner.

After pouring ingredients in and cracking the eggs, she turned to face Linda, except she wasn’t there. Maze frowned. “Linda!”

“Just a sec!” Linda yelled from another room. “I’m coming, Maze!”

Maze smirked. “Where have I heard that before?”

Linda, shuffled back into the kitchen with her hands behind her back. Maze squinted.

“What are you hiding?” Maze asked, commanding. “That better be the fucking boxset.”

“Well, you’re in for disappointment.” Linda came to stand in front of Maze, using one careful hand to push Maze’s crossed arms down. “I got you an apron, so you don’t get your shirt messy while mixing the batter!”

Using her forefinger and thumb, she picked the offending piece of cloth up off Linda’s arm. She almost shuddered. “ _Kiss the cook_ ,” Maze read off the front. She shook her head, vigorously, glowering at Linda. “No.”

“Do you want the other one?” Linda asked, lifting her arm higher to reveal the other apron she had draped over it.

Maze dropped the first apron on the ground and picked the other one up in similar fashion, like a diseased tissue – except she wasn’t really prone to human diseases, but that was a minor detail.

“ _Hot as hell_? Linda, _no_.”

“Hey, did I ever tell you that I bought the special edition boxset?” Linda smiled, more teeth than Maze was used to. “Besides, I thought that one would be more appropriate for you.”

She clenched her jaw, taking a deep breath. “I’m…” She’d been eyeing the special edition for weeks now. “Fuck you.”

The apron was black with red print and a tiny image of a stove beneath the words. Really, it wasn’t as bad as the other one; it was bright red. It was something _Lucifer_ would wear and crack a bad joke at.

Actually, he would’ve exceeded bad joke, he'd be endlessly amused, looking at either of these aprons.

She promised herself to _never_ tell Lucifer of this. She’d never hear the end of it.

With a heaving sigh, she pulled it over her head and tied her hair up in a messy bun. “You’re going to pay for this.”

Linda shrugged in responds, slipping on the other apron and twirling around so that it flapped in the air. The ends whipped at Maze’s waist.

Baring her teeth, Maze reached out, practically snagging her out the air and manhandling her around, so she faced away from Maze, towards the entrance. Maze took the ends, tying them _tightly_ around Linda’s waist. She took some satisfaction from Linda’s hiss of pain. Served her right. Maze gave her a gentle shove with two fingers, and tied up her own apron.

“Get the icing,” she grumbled as she picked the whisk up off the counter.

“Do you want sprinkles?”

“ _No_.”

Linda shrugged again, pushing her glasses higher on her face. “I’m going to go get your boxset.”

Maze grunted, giving the whisk an especially violent jerk. “You do that.”

After a minute, she heard the telltale whirring sound of Linda inserting something into the DVD slot, then she returned to the kitchen to spray oil onto the pan. That was fucking _right_. Maze finished with the whisk, tossing it into the sink over her shoulder, and hip checked Linda away from the pan, pouring the contents of the bowl into the pan.

Linda opened the oven just as she spun on her heel to slot it onto the shelf. Linda turned the timer.

“You’re not that drunk, are you?” Maze asked, after a second.

“Not really.” Linda picked up a mug that Maze hadn’t noticed sitting on the island. “I’ve been slowly sipping at this since we started baking.”

Maze stared at her. “Tipsy?”

“Just about.”

“Alright.” Maze nodded. “Let’s go watch an episode.”

Linda downed the water, poured herself some more, and trailed after Maze.

On the sofa, Maze leaned against the arm with a knife in her mouth and the remote in one hand. Linda plopped down beside her just as Maze pressed play.

Linda had noticed a long time ago that Maze liked her knives, and while it was a little unsettling, she found it oddly comforting to see her work her way with a knife – she was always twirling one in her hands or spinning one on its point, and once, she’d even walked into her waiting room to see Maze juggling three knifes with a nonchalant air of dexterity, not seeming to care if all the other patients were staring at her like she’d grown a fourth head.

She supposed that was what made Maze different. She didn’t care a whole lot, but when she did, you could tell. She had these little mannerisms that Linda, to her great chagrin, rarely picked up on but knew were there and she’d do seemingly tiny things that’d give it away. Like putting on an apron she’d rather burn, for example.

The oven sounded just as Maze started the new episode.

“I’ll get the cake.” Maze stood.

“I guess I’ll do the plates.”

In under a minute, they were both back on the couch, digging into a cake, which, frankly, still wasn’t that great, albeit still infinitely better than their first one.

Linda glanced over at Maze, smiling when Maze let out a bark of laughter at her TV.

 

 

**three.**

“You called me here to bake.”

“Yeah,” said Linda, nodding and handing the box over to Maze.

“Cake,” Maze stated. “Again.”

Linda hummed an affirmative, already oiling up the pan and preheating the oven.

Maze opened the box, frowning at the bottle of tequila on the island as she poured the contents into a bowl for the third time this month.

“Why?” she finally asked.

Linda measured out the required ingredients. Inaccurate. Maze adjusted appropriately.

“I am in turmoil,” Linda declared, handing Maze the whisk.

Maze quirked an eyebrow. “Again. _Why_?”

Sighing, Linda turned and took a sip of tequila. She faced Maze again, beaming and shrugging. Flecks of batter splat against the counter as Maze mixed the batter, forcefully.

“You’re drunk.” Maze gave the whisk another hard twist.

“I know!” Linda half-yelled, giggling. “If I weren’t this drunk, I wouldn’t even _think_ of telling you that you… that I – I think you’re the cause of my current sexual crisis. And I’m a _therapist_ , Mazikeen, I’m supposed to be able to sort out crises like these, but you seem to be the exception.”

Maze’s eyebrows shot up. _Oh_. This is bad.

Oh, this is _good_. A devilish grin pulled at her lips, a low chuckle rumbling through her smirk. “Hm.” She set the batter down, and, in one move, prowled across the kitchen and cornered Linda, pressing against her back. “ _Interesting_.”

Linda squirmed, trying to turn around. “That was unprofessional.”

Letting up, Maze allowed her enough space for her to turn around, ending up with their faces inches apart. Linda blinked, a lot.

“You’re drunk and we’re baking a crappy cake, Hannibal, this didn't exactly scream professional to begin with.” Maze smirked, lifting her chin ever so slightly, so that Maze could smell the alcohol on Linda’s breath. “Besides, we’re _friends_ , aren’t we?”

Another blink. Linda swallowed the lump in her throat and opened her mouth to say something, only to close it again. “Well. This isn’t what friends do.”

Maze’s lips twitch. She leaned forward, noses almost touching. “No, it isn’t,” she whispered, and as quickly as she got there, she pulled away, leaving Linda gaping like a fish.

She poured the batter in the pan and pushed it into the oven, twisting the timer.

“I’d _love_ to stay, believe me,” Maze said, turning around to watch Linda reach for water. “But I can’t.”

Linda tilted her head, catching Maze’s eye over her shoulder. She smiled, weakly, and all of a sudden, the atmosphere sobered up. “You need… control in your life and I’ve jeopardized it. I understand.”

Even while completely and utterly shitfaced, Linda was still a therapist. Maze’s eye twitched.

Linda’s smile waned, she gulped down her water. “I’m not… Entirely certain that I’ll…”

Maze took a deep breath, blowing it out in a harsh sigh. “Get your shit together, okay?”

“Yeah,” she replied, glancing away. “Thanks. For the cake.”

Maze snorted, slipping on the leather jacket she’d slung over the back of Linda’s couch and spinning her keys around a finger. “Bye.”

“Bye,” Linda said to a closed door.

 

 

**four.**

Linda was late.

She usually came home at five, give or take ten minutes, if she didn’t have plans, and Maze knew for a fact that she didn’t have plans.

(The blonde liked to lead an orderly life and penciled in all her plans into the planner on her desk. There was nothing there when Maze last checked, which was two hours ago when she broke in while Linda went to go get some coffee.)

Maze absentmindedly tossed a knife in the air, catching it by the hilt when it fell back into her palm, and impatiently glanced at the time on her phone.

Half past five.

Groaning, she stood abruptly, picking the knife out of the air and sticking it in the waistband of her pants.

She flipped on a single lamp and stalked into the kitchen. If she was going to pass the time, she was going to do it productively. And also she didn’t know where Linda hid her CDs. Evil bitch.

She hunted through the kitchen cabinets, pulling out the boxes of Betty Crocker Linda always seemed to never run out of. Well, she didn’t have any cake left. Maze took the chocolate chip cookies instead.

Following the instructions down to a T, she pushed the pan into the oven, closing it, and let out a groan.

Almost six, now.

She considered calling her, but then dashed it, because if Linda had screened all her calls for the past week, what made now any different?

With a resigned grumble, she returned to the arm chair, tossing the knife and waiting for her cookies to finish.

Keys. The sound of keys. Maze closed her fist around the knife just as the front door opened, revealing a disheveled Linda.

“Hey.”

She shrieked, hand flying to her chest. Maze winced. Oops. Forgot humans were so… frail.

“ _Maze_!” Linda hurriedly closed the door, kicking off her shoes. “Maze, you – you can’t do that.”

“What?”

“Break into my apartment,” Linda huffed, glowering. “How did you even get in?”

“Picked the lock.”

Linda’s eyes widened. “ _Mazikeen_ , you can _not_ do that,” she chastised. “I’m… what is that smell?”

Maze’s lips tilted, she got to her feet, flipping the knife one last time. “Cookies. I baked.”

“Oh.”

The timer let out a loud _ding!_

Briskly, she brushed past Linda to turn the oven off, taking out a plate and pouring the entire pan onto the plate, resulting in a peppering of crumbs spilling across the countertop and chipped edges. She took the plate and pushed it harshly into Linda’s arms.

Then, she crossed her arms and leaned against the door sill separating the kitchen and the living room. She stared dead into Linda’s eyes.

Linda, it turned out, was looking incredibly lost (Maze would call her pathetic, but now just really didn't seem like the time), eyes flickering from Maze to the floor to the cookies, Maze again.

Finally, Linda sighed, shoulders drooping. She set the plate down on her coffee table, slipped off her coat and purse too, and pressed a hand to her face.

“How… How have you been?” she asked after a pregnant silence.

Maze sneered, cocking her head. “How do you _think_ I’m doing?” She scoffed, pushing herself up off the door and approaching Linda. “Are you done with ignoring me?”

Linda took two steps back for every step Maze took. Her knees hit the couch. Buckled. She sat as Maze towered over her. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, what does _sorry_ do for me?”

“I thought you wanted space,” Linda said.

“I never said that, _therapist_.”

“I’m sorry,” she reiterated, leaning back into the couch as far as she could.

Maze maintained her stare, clenching her fist. “Okay.” Maze nodded, flexing her jaw. She raised her fist and stretched her fingers out in the air, slowly smoothing them out on the cushion by Linda’s head. “Okay.”

She put her other hand on the other side, caging Linda in. She almost let out a laugh. She liked having Linda at her mercy. She slowly lifted a knee and slid it forward, coming to a stop next to Linda’s waist.

And again for the other one, rubbing against Linda’s thigh, until she was straddling her.

Linda swallowed, hard.

This time, Maze allowed a smile. “You’re right. I like control.”

Linda didn’t say a thing.

That wasn’t fun. Maze lifted a hand off the couch and splayed four fingers on the side of Linda’s neck with her thumb on the underside of her jaw, gently slanting her head up.

“How’s your crisis?”

Linda waited a moment, pondering. “Sorted.”

She let out a chuckle. “Mhmm.”

Then, without a second thought, she leaned forward, sliding over Linda’s lips.

Immediately, Linda sighed into her, neck curving under Maze’s hand as she tilted and pressed into the kiss.

Maze laughed again, into Linda’s mouth. She drew back a fraction. “Eager.”

Before Linda could retort, however, Maze brought her other hand to wrap around the back of Linda’s neck, guiding her in for another kiss. Linda made a happy little sound from the back of her throat, arms sliding up to wrap around Maze.

Maze pushed her front flush against Linda, neck arching as Linda’s lips followed. She sucked Maze’s lip into her mouth, teeth scraping lightly, and, oh, she took that trick from Lucifer. Minx.

Suddenly, she pulled back, a thumb firm against Linda’s chin, she kept Linda’s head canted up, lips parted and eyes wide. Maze decided that Linda looked nice with this whole well-fucked look. She scraped a blunt nail down the side of Linda’s cheek.

“We’re going to have fun,” she husked into the hollow beneath Linda’s jaw.

Linda’s lips twitched into a smile as Maze’s teeth grazed the soft expanse of skin on her neck, the cookies on the coffee table long forgotten.

 

 

**five.**

Linda awoke, squinting at her bedside clock. 9:32AM.

She usually woke earlier than this. She frowned, getting up and blindly reaching for her glasses. Trudging to the bathroom, she cleaned up and stretched.

Hm. Her eyebrows knitted. “Maze?”

She shuffled towards the sound of a timer going off. Kitchen.

Oh. Maze pulled a cake out the oven, carefully sliding it onto a plate and squirting chocolate icing over it. She was dressed in, well, actually, Linda didn’t think what she was wearing counted as dressed. Did spanking naked beside a loose-hanging apron count?

“Kiss the cook?” Linda asked, grinning.

Maze turned with a smirk of her own. “She’s waiting.”

Linda strode forward, wrapping her arms around Maze and laying a soft kiss on her lips. “What’s this for?”

“What do you think?” Maze quirked an eyebrow. She almost made a crack at Linda’s age, but really, she didn’t have the right, seeing as she was, well, ageless. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” Linda whispered, kissing her again, longer than the first, but backing away before it could develop into some good old French kissing.

Maze frowned. If stupid human traditions meant she wouldn’t get to at least get a little tongue, then what was the point of condoning them?

Seeming to sense Maze’s mild annoyance, Linda poked her in the rib. “You didn’t turn the oven off and I actually like having a kitchen that’s not charred.”

Rolling her eyes, Maze wrenched the knobs around before spinning on her heel, a predatory glint in her eyes. With a single yank, the apron snapped and fell to the floor, and Linda didn’t really care that her apron broke, because that was damn attractive.

She smoothed her thumbs over Maze’s naked hips, tugging her pelvis into her pajama shorts. Maze looked down at her with a wicked smirk. Maybe human traditions weren’t that bad.

Maze wrapped an arm around Linda’s neck and swept a hand up to grip lightly at her cheek, leaning in – “Ha! I _knew_ it! How’s my therapist in the sack, Maze? Just kidding, I know the answer to that.”

Linda jerked back, not getting very far, since Maze was ridiculously strong and kept her in place.

Maze’s arms loosened, resting on her shoulders. Staying, Linda craned her neck around to scowl at the interruption.

Chloe stepped around Lucifer, then in quick succession turned back around. “Oh! Oh. My _god_.” She grabbed Lucifer, pushing him back into the living room. “I’m sorry. Jesus. God.”

“Oh, yes, let daddy dearest get a look at this. _Gold_.” Linda heard Lucifer cackle. The distinct sound of Lucifer getting whacked and a hissed, “ _Ow_!"

She turned to glance up at Maze who had her eyes closed, taking a deep breath.

“Get me some clothes,” Maze huffed, teeth clenched.

Linda nodded, but not before giving Maze a quick peck on the lips, hurrying out. In her room, she grabbed Maze’s rumpled dress off the floor. Actually, maybe not. She tossed it into the laundry, grabbing a set of clothes Maze left last week.

When she strode back through the living room, Chloe offered her an apologetic smile. “Happy birthday.”

“Hm, yes,” Lucifer started, smirking. “Funny how it’s your birthday, but Maze is the one in her birthday suit.”

Linda smiled at Chloe, ignoring Lucifer. “Thank you, detective.”

“Did I do something?” Lucifer watched as she hurried into the kitchen, amused.

“Shut up.” Chloe whacked his arm again.

“Here,” Linda said.

Maze got dressed and, in a pair of leather pants and a tank top, wordlessly walked into the living room. Linda frowned, following after her, conveniently in time with Amanadiel who was just coming in.

Maze punched Lucifer. Right in the face. She turned and walked back into the kitchen.

“Bloody…” Lucifer gasped.

Amanadiel blinked. “What did he do this time?”

Lucifer sputtered as Linda and Chloe shared a smile. “He finally found out.”

“Ah.” Amanadiel nodded, smiling down at her. “Happy birthday, Linda.”

“Thank–”

“You’re telling me that they all knew before me?” Lucifer huffed, taken aback.

Behind her, Maze snorted, returning with a cake in hand. “Yes.”

“Even _Detective Douche_?”

Speak of the devil, or not the devil, Maze smirked as Dan peered around the open door, leading Trixie in through the door. “Yeah, he knew.”

“I… am wounded.” He turned to Chloe. “ _You_ knew?”

Maze rolled her eyes, wrapping an arm around Linda’s waist and leading her to the cake. “Shut up and eat the damn cake.”

Linda smiled, tucking her nose into the crook in Maze’s collarbone. “You baked and invited them over for my birthday.”

“Eat the damn cake, Linda.” Maze cracked a smile.

 

 

**bonus.**

Maze stalked towards Linda’s apartment complex, stabbing in the code to let herself in. Tapping her foot impatiently, she squinted at the numbers on the elevator.

Finally, she stormed into Linda’s apartment.

“Maze?” Linda called from the kitchen. Maze followed the sound, stomping in, tossing her purse onto the couch on the way. “What’s wrong?”

“The entire literally-goddamned Morningstar family,” Maze growled, gathering Linda up in her arms and kissing her, hard.

Linda responded in kind, though after a solid minute, she combed her fingers through Maze’s hair, nudging her back. “While this is very welcome, I think it would be better if you just took a second to–”

“Are you baking?” Maze gave Linda a quick onceover, then peering over her shoulder. Eyeing the  _Hot as hell_ apron tied around a classy blouse and pencil skirt and the mess of a kitchen behind her.

Linda frowned. She had a really bad habit of interrupting people.

Maze sighed, just stopping herself from rolling her eyes, because she was a demon right out of hell, she really shouldn’t be pussy-whipped by a puny _human_ therapist. “Sorry.”

“Yes. I am baking.” Linda smiled. “I realize you’re always doing most of the work, so I wanted to return the favour. While not drunk at least.”

“That’s… nice.” Maze glanced down at Linda, loosening her hold around her waist. She wasn’t particularly hungry, but humans were, apparently, extremely sentimental and just overall really mushy about this shit.

Ignoring her awkwardness, Linda nodded. “Chocolate cake.”

“Where’s the icing?”

“Fridge.”

Maze nodded, unwrapping herself from around Linda and digging through the fridge.

They busied themselves, Maze sorting out the icing and Linda beginning to clean up.

Once the oven went off, Maze was only allowed to take the cake out of the oven, surrendering the icing to Linda who insisted on doing it.

Happy with the final product, Linda set the plate down on the island triumphantly. “What do you think?”

Maze stared at her and didn't say a word.

“Hungry?” Linda tried again.

She smirked. “Oh, yeah.”

“Great, can you get the plates?”

Maze manhandled Linda into her hold, curling her fingers around the knot at the back of the apron and undoing it in one tug. Immediately, Linda wound her arms around Maze’s middle.

“I’m guessing you don’t need plates for this,” she mumbled into Maze’s mouth, dragging her own away to trail kisses down her jaw.

Maze’s throat reverberated as she let out a throaty hum. “A bed, maybe.”

Linda pressed a hard kiss into the base of her neck.

“You’re still going to eat that cake later.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ive been lowkey shipping them since the episode where trixie goes to lux and i realize theres literally 2 other fics in the tag so have this
> 
> feedback is much appreciated. thank you!
> 
> tumblr: portiallin


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